


Dreams

by FreeTheSoul



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Gen, Introspection, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTheSoul/pseuds/FreeTheSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lloyd dreamt a lot of things.<br/>But, mostly, he dreamt about his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea where this one came from, honestly. ah, well.  
> i dont really know if this should be tagged with kranna? so i left that out, sorry.

 Lloyd Irving dreamt a lot of things.

 Sometimes, he dreamt of grand, sprawling adventures. Of going out and travelling the world with Colette, and maybe with Genis, too (that was, if Genis would stop being such a wet blanket). Just the three of them, saving the world from the Desians. Cool sword fights, too, against massive enemies - of course, Lloyd and his friends always, always won, no matter how tough the battle. He'd be filthy rich from all the sword-fighting pros he'd bested, and become the champion of all of Sylvarant.

 He liked those dreams, although even he could admit that they were a little on the extreme side - travelling around with _Genis?_ Hah! As if.

 Sometimes, he dreamt of school. Lloyd wasn't quite so fond of these dreams, and had aptly dubbed them as nightmares. He had enough of that in the real world, thank you very much. The last time he said that around Raine, though, he got a piece of chalk thrown at his forehead. So, he didn't say that around Raine anymore. It wasn't like he had them that often, anyway.

 Most of the time, however, Lloyd dreamt of his parents.

 What he could, at least. They were shadows in his mind; blurred, hazy human-like shapes that warped and distorted even further whenever he struggled to see them clearly. But they were warm, friendly, _familiar_ shadows, so eventually Lloyd stopped struggling to see them and simply accepted it.

 He liked these dreams, too, even more than the fantasies he had of saving the world. They were the last connection he had to his parents, after all.

 Lloyd would dream of his mother most of all. He knew, from Dirk's descriptions, that she'd had short brown hair and chocolate eyes like his own. Lloyd had tried, using this knowledge, to fit a face to her voice, but it had ended up giving him a headache and a frightening image rather like Raine with his hair and eyes, and he stopped trying to force himself after that.

 His mother was nice, and sweet, and had such a warm kind of personality. She liked to tease him, too, but it was the kind of teasing that ended up with him laughing. Like the time she'd told him that he wouldn't get dessert if he didn't eat his vegetables, and he'd still squirmed and kicked and struggled in her lap as she tried to feed him one, meagre green, until she gave up and succumbed to his infectious giggles. Or the time when she'd climbed up to a low tree branch with him, pointed to the stars spread across the sky, and whispered to him that his father was a star like those, too, and Lloyd would giggle at her and call her silly, because his dad couldn't be a star in the sky if he was his _dad._

 He'd remember her always being there for him when his father was gone, or when he got scared - Why was his father gone? Why was he scared? These questions came with no reply, so he eventually stopped asking them to himself, and soon forgot altogether - and she'd always pull him close and tell him _"Hush, dear, everything's fine, no need to be frightened"_. When he had these dreams Lloyd would wake the next morning with a tight feeling in his chest, wishing his mother was still there to tell him that things were fine, to reassure him that his father would be back soon. But Lloyd would feel safe, as if his mother was there watching over him and keeping him out of trouble, so he didn't mind these dreams.

 The dreams with his father came frequently, as well. Lloyd remembered always clambering over his shoulders and tugging at his hair - His hair wasn't short, but it also wasn't long like Colette's. Maybe something like Genis, he decided - and giggling when his father's mock protests came. His father would carry him around on his shoulders, showing him the bright, starry sky, or he'd sit in his father's lap, falling asleep while his father told him strange stories that he never really understood, but listened to anyway because his father's stories were _fun._

 The best thing Lloyd could remember of his father was blue. A deep, beautiful, sparkling blue. What this meant, Lloyd hadn't even a hint of an idea, but he remembered that blue meant two things: Blue meant safety, meant his father would be there for him, would protect him. But blue also meant danger, that there was something scary, that he needed to hide. Lloyd also remembered something, something glimmering, and silver, and shiny, that his father always carried, but he could never seem to recall exactly what it was.

 Lloyd had no idea what his father looked like. The hair, yes, but that was about it. It didn't help that Lloyd's clearest memory was of a shadowy back, so he couldn't even begin to try to recall a face. Once, and only once, Lloyd came close, _so close,_ to seeing his father's face, but he woke up before he could with the feeling that his heart was trying to hammer its way out of his chest.

 The dreams of his father would make him feel happy, but he'd also feel lonely, so very _lonely._

 Sometimes, his dreams wouldn't always be happy. There was one, one that would wake him in the middle of the night sweating and panting, feeling as if someone had a grip on his heart and was squeezing it tightly. Although, no matter how many times he was plagued by it, he could never seem to remember a single thing from it after he woke up, aside from the inexplicable _knowledge_ that it had been about his parents.

 When Lloyd was awoken in the middle of the night by these nightmares, heart in his throat, Lloyd never could seem to get back to sleep. He'd roll back into the covers, but he'd fidget, and squirm, and roll over a thousand times before he eventually gave up. On these nights, he'd eventually pull himself out of bed, shivering at the cool touch of air on his skin. If Dirk was still up, the sound of clanging metal always a clear indicator, Lloyd would creep out to the balcony and clamber onto the roof, sitting there and watching the stars until the sun began to show. On nights where the sounds of metalworking were not present, Lloyd would creep downstairs, taking care to make sure Dirk didn't wake up - although, after the one time Lloyd was so flustered he tripped down the last few stairs and the ensuing crash barely elicited a response from Dirk, he began to suspect that perhaps his dad noticed more than he let on - and then quietly exit the house.

 From there, Lloyd would tiptoe over to Noishe's pen, where the arshis lay. Noishe would perk up his head, giving a small sort of whine in greeting, and Lloyd would lie down next to his old friend. Lloyd still wouldn’t be able to sleep, but the warmth of Noishe curling up around him and the familiar, musky scent of his fur was comforting. Lloyd would lie there for hours, until he’d feel the first rays of sunlight on his back. He'd then bury his face in Noishe’s neck by way of thanks, before sneaking back into the house.

 The least frequent of Lloyd’s dreams were the dreams where both his parents were present. They were also the haziest, most distorted of his dreams, and rarely could he remember anything from them after he woke up, but they were still the ones he cherished the most.

 He'd dream of his mother sneaking tomatoes into his food, and she'd be giggling at his reaction when he tasted the disgusting flavor. She had a soft, tinkling sort of laugh, one that made Lloyd feel good. His father would chide her, and she'd simply turn and laugh at him, too, while he sighed and admitted defeat against her.

 He'd dream of the only time Lloyd could recall hearing his father really, truly laugh. He couldn't remember exactly why he'd started laughing, but he could remember his and his mother's surprise before they, too, joined in. His father had never laughed, not really, so Lloyd liked that one.

 He'd dream of walking through a forest - What forest? Not one he could recognize - while his parents swung him along. Sometimes, he'd run around on his own, the bright colors of the forest fascinating to him. 

 He'd dream of the time he got lost, wandering too far into the woods and not realizing it until he could see the stars in the sky. He'd tripped, scraped his knee, and even started to cry when he heard something in the bushes behind him, turning around and screaming at the stained fangs and reeking breath he was faced with. Luckily for him, his father had appeared in the following moment, disposing of the beast with ease before tossing down his sword and picking up his son. He'd squeezed Lloyd against his chest, repeating over and over the words "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" while Lloyd cried. His mother had been sobbing when his father returned to her, tired and carrying Lloyd gently in his arms. This dream probably should've been more of a nightmare to Lloyd, but the protection of his father still gave him a warm sort of feeling. He wondered, once, if his father was still protecting him.

 As the years passed, however, Lloyd no longer dreamed these dreams. He forgot the dreams where he was with both his parents, he forgot their laughter, he even forgot their voices. Dreams of his parents became rare, and even rarer was it for him to remember anything from them after he woke. The only one that remained with him after he forgot all the rest was the nightmare, the nightmare that woke him up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

 It was cruel, Lloyd once mused while staring up at the stars from the rooftop, that the only memory he had left of his parents was a horrifying nightmare.

 Lloyd Irving dreamt a lot of things.

 But, least of all, he dreamt about his parents.


End file.
